


A Random Act of Violence

by M_E_Lover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Adult Language, Amnesia, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Finch/Whump, Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Finch, Poor John, Sadness, The poor boys!, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-04-20 17:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14266494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Lover/pseuds/M_E_Lover
Summary: Finch and Reese have just wrapped up a very successful case. Harold feels like celebrating and invites John to meet him at one of his favorite restaurants from the past. Harold never arrives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swore to myself that I wouldn't start another story until I wrapped up one of the many other "open" fics I have floating around out there. I just can't seem to help myself though, I apologize.
> 
> Thanks as always to oddgit for everything she does! 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! P.S. I have absolutely no medical knowledge, this is purely fictional.

They had just finished up with their latest case. 

Harold opened his end of the comm line to his partner. “Well, Mister Reese. I believe this one calls for a celebration. What do you think?” Finch was feeling better tonight than he’d felt in weeks. Not only was his pain level tolerable, without the use of medication, but his emotional state couldn’t have been much better than it was right now.

John had dropped their numbers, a mother and her two young sons, off at their home and had finished the case without a scratch. That as far as Harold was concerned was a supreme achievement and he wanted to show John just how much pride and gratification he felt with the success of their mission.

These were the kinds of cases that made what they did much more bearable. When they had jobs that didn’t go their way, it was hard on them both and so this was the perfect opportunity to take what temporary respite they could get for the moment and run with it.

“What do you have in mind, Finch?” John answered favorably. He too felt overwhelming relief and was all for going out to mark the occasion in whatever fashion his partner had in mind.

“Well, it’s still early enough for a late dinner, I know a place that stays open well past regular hours… what would you say to a nice thick steak and an exceptional bottle of wine?” Finch couldn’t keep the elation from his voice; he truly was feeling great enthusiasm with the idea of reveling in a job well done.

“Sounds good,” John chuckled. He could tell that Harold was happy and he took great pleasure in hearing it in his voice. 

“I had thought to have you meet me at one of my favorite restaurants.” Harold offered. “My treat of course.”

A flash of memory came to him then. The small intimate place had also been a favorite of Grace’s and until tonight, he’d never even considered going back there again… certainly not without her anyway. 

Harold swallowed the lump that had suddenly materialized in his throat. He almost regretted his offer but how could he take it back now? John deserved a small show of openness and trust from him and Harold was sure he’d enjoy the restaurant. And finally he thought… maybe after all this time, he might be able to enjoy it again as well. 

“Just give me the address, Harold. I’ll meet you there.” John was a little bit nervous but at the same time, a small thrill ran through him from the thought that Harold was really beginning to let his guard down and open up some. 

It seemed as though his very private boss was revealing a little bit more about himself with every successful job they could put behind them. John liked that idea a great deal. He’d never known anyone as brilliant and generous as Harold is before. He’d jump on any chance the recluse gave him to get to know the man better.

“I’m sending the address now. I’ll meet you there in half an hour.” Harold smiled when John answered in his easy way…

“I’ll be there.” And cut the line.

Bear came over from his doggie bed by the library wall with his leash in his mouth and nudged Harold’s hand. 

He smiled down at the dog and stroked his head affectionately. “I’m sorry, Bear, not this time… but I promise to bring you your very own steak afterward. How does that sound?” Harold remembered that the restaurant was a little too high-brow for dogs and unfortunately wouldn’t be able to take him this time. Bear dropped his head and went back to his bed looking solemn.

“And to think, some people don’t believe animals can understand what’s being said.” He chuckled and walked over and rubbed Bears ears, “We’ll bring you a big fat juicy rib-eye,” Harold explained. “Nice and rare, just how you prefer it.” He smiled and stood up, retrieved his coat and hat from the rack, and turned to look at Bear fondly once more before locking up and leaving for the restaurant. 

John had arrived early to the fine dining establishment and stood outside while he waited for his partner. It looked like a really quant little place and found that he was hungrier than he thought as he heard his stomach growl.

The weather was beginning to warm up from a harsh winter and the brisk, but not too cold, air felt good on his face. He smiled thinking about how smoothly things had gone on the last case they’d just finished up with. 

A young mother had been on the run from her abusive boyfriend. The brute had finally pushed things too far and hired a hitman to go after her and her sons when he found out that she was trying to reunite with her ex and the father of her boys. 

Finch had gotten every scrap of information they’d needed to put a stop to the murders and taken a very dangerous man and hired assassin, off the street. 

The woman was indeed able to get back with her ex-husband. Hopefully they would all be able to get past this nightmare and put it all behind them so they could live happily from now on. If only all their numbers went that well, their lives as friendly neighborhood vigilantes would be a lot more fulfilling.

John looked at his watch, it was five minutes after the scheduled time they were supposed to meet. 

Harold was normally very prompt but there was always a first time for everything; he wouldn’t worry about it just yet. He felt a grin come to his face, remembering how upbeat his partner sounded a short time ago. 

He was so happy that he could give him a little distraction from his thoughts and worries. Like himself, John knew that Harold took the world onto his own shoulders and paid the price for it more often than not. A memory came to him suddenly and he chuckled thinking about the past. 

The thought of Leila came to mind and how fussy Harold was over the little girl. He reminded John of a mother hen and he laughed out loud and looked around, embarrassed at himself, but there was no one around to have seen him and the smile returned to his face. 

Then he looked at the time again. Harold was now ten minutes late. He needed to decide if he should give it a little more time or just text Finch to see if he should go ahead and get a table. He decided a text would be appropriate, after all Finch has always been a stickler for being on time, and he’d always enjoyed teasing him so why should tonight be any different?

He took his phone out and sent a text asking him what he should do and waited for the response. 

He paced up and down the street and looked at his cell every few seconds for Harold’s reply. 

After a minute and a half passed with no response, John’s instincts started to go on alert. He felt an uneasiness come over him and that always meant trouble in the past. He couldn’t ignore the feeling that something terrible might have happened. He dialed Harold’s number only for the call to go directly to voicemail. John’s heart skipped a beat as he tried to figure out why he wasn’t replying… what could have happened?


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty-Five minutes earlier

Harold closed and locked the gate behind him then began to descend the stairs. He took note along the way that the normally exertive task took a little less effort than usual and found that the day was indeed turning out to be exceptional in many ways. A rare and much welcomed smile crept to his lips.

He performed his routine check of security feeds from the four clandestine cameras surrounding their main entrance. The alley was clear and he made his way outside, turned and locked up before walking towards the opening leading to the street. He turned onto the sidewalk then proceeded to stroll the two blocks to his town car, enjoying the unhurried atmosphere of the late evening. This was the perfect time of day as far as Harold was concerned. Practically no one on the streets, the quiet calmness of the hour as most people are winding down and getting ready for bed.

It was a little chilly and he almost turned back to retrieve his scarf and gloves, but decided that it wasn’t really all that cold. He could bear it for the few minutes it would take to get to the car and then he’d just turn the heater on for a little while to warm up.

He was still grinning as he walked along. He couldn’t quite believe it, but he had decided that what he was felling right now was a moment of pure unadulterated happiness and he'd even go as far as to say, _elation_. The emotions that were governing his frame of mind were almost foreign to him now and he welcomed them gladly.

 _He hadn’t remembered feeling this good since…_ his smile wavered for a scant moment. No, he wouldn’t go there. Tonight was about celebrating the present, not wallowing in the past. He curbed his thoughts back to the latest case instead.

Although the outcome wasn’t a perfect resolution for everyone involved, it was just about as close as they could come to it. And best of all… John had gotten away without a scratch.

That fact alone in his book was reason enough to take great pleasure and celebrate the outcome. There were far too many times John had been injured in one way or another in their line of work and that reality had never been an easy one for Harold to accept.

As he got closer to his car, he saw movement around the driver’s side door. He hurried his steps instinctively and saw two men trying to break in through the window.

“Hey!” he shouted, hoping to interrupt and scare them off from their attempt.

Both men stopped instantly and looked at each other. Harold couldn’t see clearly through the dark and the distance well, but he could ascertain that they had said something to each other.

 _“Oh dear,”_ he thought when the men turned toward him and hurriedly approached, each brandishing something indistinguishable in their hands. _“Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut…”_

“Listen…” Harold began with his hands up and palms turned outward in a display of submissiveness. They were gaining on him quickly. He looked up and down the street for anyone else to call out to but there wasn’t a soul in sight and he was too far away from the library to retreat back to it before they could catch up to him.

He was in trouble and at their mercy and he knew it. “Here, look, take the keys…” he offered anxiously and pulled them from his coat pocket quickly, holding them out to them as they closed the gap between them.

“Oh, I think we’re going to take more than your fucking keys, mister.” One of the men replied menacingly.

Harold hurried to pull out his billfold just before they were right on top of him, “Here, take the money, I won’t report you, just…there’s no need to do anything rash…” but it was too late. “Stop! Please, you don't need to do this.” he exclaimed as the two men got on either side of him and took him by the arms violently, pulling him into an adjacent alleyway.

 “You’d better stay quiet buddy or you’re dead. Got it?” One of them said threateningly.

Harold tried to stay on his feet while being dragged forcefully backwards, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate.

The uneven pavement jolted and jarred the metal in his lower back and hip painfully as his feet fought to gain purchase on the ground. He cried out instinctively as the driving motion caused sharp, stabbing sensations through his impaired frame.

“I said be quiet!” One of the thugs said angrily and hit him with something solid in the back of the head as they continued to force him along. When they got to the end of the alley they brutishly manhandled and stood him upright then shoved him hard against the brick structure.

He momentarily saw stars flash behind his eyes from the impact of the back of his head hitting the wall but somehow managed to keep quiet through the sudden pain.

*****

Present time

John was heading back to the library in a hurry. ‘ _Were are you Finch?’_ he ran through all kinds of scenarios in his head.

From the hopeful… _‘Maybe he’d just forgotten his phone and gotten stuck in traffic. But no, that couldn’t be it because there really wasn’t that much traffic this time of the night and it would be a cold day in hell before Harold ever forgot his phone.’_

To the despairing, _‘Maybe he’d had a heart attack and is lying on the floor of the library fighting for his life, or worse yet… already dead.’_

He wasn’t far from the library now and hoped the cause would be something mundane like Harold had just gotten himself immersed in a new case and forgot to cancel dinner.

_‘That wouldn’t be too far-fetched knowing Harold. The man could easily lose himself for hours in his computers. But that couldn’t be the reason either… there was still the question of 'why wasn’t he answering his phone?’_

John was making himself crazy with every possible worst case scenario he could imagine all the way to the library.

He pulled up the street and looked for Harold’s town-car to find it missing. ‘ _Shit_ ’ he thought _. ‘Maybe he’d had an accident and was badly injured.’_ He still needed to check things in the library. He parked in Harold’s spot and hurried the two blocks to the back entrance and let himself inside.

John closed and locked the door behind him and started towards the stairs hoping beyond hope that this was all just a ruse to get John worked up and that he’d find a note saying ’Gotcha!” or something of the like... but then he highly doubted Harold had it in him to be that cruel.

He heard Bear whining at the gate, letting him know that he was there and was okay at least. He got to the gate and unlocked it then rubbed the dog’s ears. “Where’s Finch, boy?”

He went to Harold’s work station and found nothing out of the ordinary just like he’d imagined he would.

He sat down and pulled up the security feeds from outside and ran them back until he caught sight of Finch leaving the building.

Everything was fine when Harold locked up and headed toward the street… _forty-five minutes ago according to the time signature._ There was nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary… other than the far too infrequent look of happiness and satisfaction on his partner’s face.

He felt a wave of anger come over him from not having any more footage to review after Harold turns to walk down the street. _‘But his car is gone so he must have driven somewhere.’_

He’d just have to trace his GPS now to find his missing partner.

He called up the information to track Harold’s phone and saw that it was with the car and traveling approximately nine miles away in the opposite direction of the restaurant they were supposed to have met.

‘ _What in the hell?_ ’ He dialed the number to Harold’s phone again praying to hear Finch’s voice and still all he got was a direct line to voicemail. He was baffled and still had that sinking feeling in his gut gnawing at him.

He looked at Bear sitting alert and anxious next to him with his leash in his mouth, ready to go. He momentarily thought about calling Shaw or Fusco but with no real leads yet he decided to wait until he could find something to go on and knew more. “Come on Bear, let’s go find Finch.”


	3. Chapter 3

Earlier – The assault continued

Harold used the wall behind him to help support his legs and keep himself from falling to the ground. The two men stood before him, agitated and posturing and clearly perverse with their crime. It was then that he finally saw what each of them held in their hands. 

The taller of the two was holding a tire iron while the other brandished a switch-blade knife. Both men were much bigger in bulk and had at least forty pounds on him. Harold knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against either of them, weapons or no.

“Take off that nice coat and give it to me.” The shorter man ordered impatiently. 

The taller of them walked away and was now looking around the area, making sure that there wasn’t anyone around to witness the crime. Their location was obscured by a dumpster and various garbage cans and boxes stacked around a number of back doors into the buildings. They had hauled him far enough away from the street that no one walking past the mouth of the alleyway would see them without a fair amount of effort.

Harold was in a world of trouble and he now knew without a doubt that what he was up against did not bode well for him. 

He quickly removed his cashmere overcoat and handed off the long black garment over obediently. The man snatched it from his hand while Harold’s mind whirled around with vain ideas on how he might get himself out of this position alive. 

“Listen, you really don’t have to…” Harold began and was suddenly backhanded hard across the face causing him to lose his footing and nearly topple over. His hand flew to his mouth and a stab of pain lanced through the back of his head as he forced himself to stand upright again. He tentatively ran his tongue over his split lip and tasted blood in his mouth. 

“How many times do we have to say it?” the shorter man derided him cruelly. “Keep your fucking mouth shut!”

Harold stayed silent and stood on weakened legs in a daze awaiting the next demand. He could feel himself becoming light-headed as he tried to parse what exactly these men would have in mind for the end of their ruthless mugging. 

Neither of them had made any attempt to hide their identities and it finally and unequivocally became clear to him how this was all going to end. 

They were going to kill him after they got what they wanted from him… after he did all the work for them. 

He mentally shook himself from his daze and stood at full height, on his own two feet, unsteadily, but with resolve. He was angry and would offer no more assistance to them freely. He would not voluntarily give them what they wanted again only to be killed regardless.

The taller man strode back from the mouth of the alley. “We’re clear,” he stated tersely. “There’s no one in sight.”

They both looked at him now menacingly and they could sense that Harold’s demeanor had changed… he wasn’t cowed to them anymore, nor would he be again.

Harold glared at them, “If you leave now, I will forget this ever happened,” he made the statement coolly and as steadily as he could manage. He was barely able to stand but made every effort to give them an out. To save them from what would surely mean their deaths later if they continued with their plans. “If you don’t, I won’t be responsible for what happens to you later.” 

The two brutes looked at each other in disbelief before the taller smirked at him and punched him in the side of the head again, nearly knocking him off his feet for a third time. He stumbled back and caught himself. He clambered against the wall, bracing himself against it and heard their heartless laughter. He glared at the shapes in front of him defiantly as his head spun and his vision swam and he’d be dammed if he gave in to them again. 

His sight began to clear slowly and he looked at them as pointedly as he could manage through his addled haze, “Don’t say… I didn’t warn you,” and he grinned before another violent blow, this time with the tire iron, came crashing down against his left shoulder and chest. 

The severity of the contact to his upper torso seemed to draw every ounce of air from his lungs. He fell back against the wall and slid down along it sideways until he hit the cold pavement on his right side. He struggled to breathe again and huffed and panted for air.

“You think you’re hot shit, huh tough guy?” The shorter of the two knelt down and held the switch blade against Harold’s left cheek, just under his eye and twisted the point until blood trickled from the site.

“You think you’re gonna take us out?” he jeered at him mockingly. “You’re gonna be dead, smart ass.”

Through the cloudiness of his vision and with awareness fading in and out, Harold grinned at the man again knowingly, “It won’t be me asshole…” he stated coolly and closed his eyes.

Just on the periphery of awareness Harold could hear the two men arguing heatedly.

“I told you we should have taken off!” One of them said. 

“Shut the fuck up. Who’s gonna know it was us?” the other replied angrily, “We’ll be long gone with all the guy’s shit and his car, then we ditch the car and we’re scot-free.” 

Harold could tell that they were thrown off and apprehensive about his assertion and he couldn’t help himself, he started to chuckle out loud.

They looked down at him in surprise and confused by his display and he opened his eyes to meet theirs. “You have… no idea what’s coming for you,” he stated with as much of a threat as he could manage before he closed his eyes again and felt himself begin to fade away.

The smaller man knelt down close beside him. Harold could feel palpably just how close he was. “Now we’re going to shut you up for good, asshole,” the brute stated menacingly. 

Then Harold felt something sharp and dull at the same time in his mid-section. Not truly painful at first, but certainly uncomfortable. He grunted as the sensation grew more and more intense and opened his eyes as it started to become unbearable. 

He looked into the man’s face that was only a short distance away from his own. His eyes were cold and hard and Harold felt the twist of the knife as the man leaned further over him. The pain was becoming indescribable and his breath was catching in his throat erratically as the blade entered further, digging and gouging unrelentingly.

“No one can see us here,” the man stated heartlessly. “No one’s going to save you.” He pushed the blade deeper still and Harold could hardly catch his breath as the pain assaulted him mercilessly, “you’re dead.” Harold could feel the heat and the wetness seeping out of his body and into his shirt and waistcoat, weighing the fabric flush against his skin with the heft of his blood. 

As he felt the vacuum of oblivion begin to overwhelm him, sucking him into the impending void, he looked into the man’s eyes and used every ounce of strength and tenacity he had left in him to answer the murderer, “You have… no idea… what’s… coming for you.” he repeated.

“You son of a bitch!” the man spat at him spitefully. 

The pressure mounted and then peaked. As it did his weakened gasps of pain and distress tapered off until he had no more strength in him to make another sound. 

Harold was finally and utterly losing his grip on consciousness as he felt the blade retract from his waning body. He had just managed to crack his eyes open once more. The last thing he saw before everything went black… was the tire iron rapidly approaching his head.


	4. Chapter 4

Present time

John left the library with Bear raring to go in hot pursuit when he immediately found and latched on to Harold’s scent.

John was never so amazed with an animal’s tracking abilities as he was now. The highly trained and disciplined military dog instinctively knew that Finch was the one they needed to find.

He practically dragged John behind him as they made their way towards the street to find his other master.

He didn’t really think they’d find much in the way of evidence as they rounded the corner and Bear took the lead eagerly, sniffing the ground as they progressed in the direction that Finch’s car had been parked.

John thought that Bear would most likely just tow him up to that point and that would be the end of the trail. Then he’d call Shaw and Fusco and get them involved and they would figure out what steps they needed to take in finding there missing leader.

It was getting late into the evening and he had no doubt that Shaw would be awake, but wasn’t so sure about Lionel.

But regardless of the time, Finch was officially missing and they needed to locate the man immediately. He was sure that Lionel would jump on board too, no matter what time it was.

As they walked along at a brisk pace, Bear continued to tug on the leash insistently.

John could now see his own car in the distance parked where he left it, in Harold’s normal spot. They were closing the gap swiftly and the dog was still focused on the scent, not wavering once since he’d caught it.

John’s eyes narrowed as they continued down the sidewalk another fifty yards or so until Bear abruptly detoured and was now leading him down a poorly lit alleyway.

He held onto the leash and scanned the area as they hurried along the narrow strip of pavement between the two rows of buildings. He was surprised that their direction had diverted from the street and he was becoming nervous about it.

Bear was becoming increasingly determined with his mission and John’s heart rate was speeding up in anticipation. A sinking feeling came over him and he pulled a small Maglite out of his pocket and turned on the powerful beam.

“Slow down boy.” John was becoming more apprehensive with their surroundings as he let the dog pull him along persistently.

A sudden clinking sound of something made of glass being dislodged and rolling around on the concrete came from the direction of a dumpster, startling him.

He turned the flashlight towards it quickly and caught a rat in its beam scurrying along the wall away from them.

Bear made no move toward the rodent but instead pulled him in earnest towards the large trash receptacle.

The dog was now whining anxiously and becoming increasingly distressed the closer they got. As they advanced further and was almost on top of it he'd been in no way prepared for what Bear had lead him to…

His heart clenched painfully. He could see from the short distance away that Harold’s eyes were open as they approached him… his customary black frames were missing and his typically clear blue orbs were now dull and held a vacant stare.

John thought that Harold was surely dead and his legs felt weak as he got closer to the dreadful scene.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion from that point for what felt like an eternity as his heart hammered in his chest. He felt as though his limbs were made of stone and he was slogging through mud. He knelt down beside his dear friend and trained the flashlight on Harold’s bloodied, expressionless face.

He moved his hand to his partner's throat tentatively to feel for a pulse and prayed that he find one.

Miraculously he felt a flutter beneath his fingertips and everything that had been lumbering so slowly through his mind amped up and his instincts shifted into overdrive.

He flew into action.

‘ _My God, Finch… what have they done to you?_ ' The more John saw of Harold’s state the angrier and upset he was becoming.

One side of his face was red and his bottom lip had been split open and was swollen. Among the smears of dry blood on his face, a stark meandering line of crimson, originating from a small puncture just below his left eye, had crossed his nose to the other side of his face.

It had dripped from his cheek to leave a circle of blood on the cold ground below.

As Harold lay there, so utterly still and silent, slumped onto his side with his back facing the wall, John felt a cold chill run through him.

The distant look in his partner’s unnaturally naked eyes was eerie and unsettling and it terrified him. Harold was _absent_ … there was no other way to describe it, he was somewhere else in his mind and John didn’t trust himself to speak just yet and began looking him over instead, feeling his own blood pressure mounting.

 _‘This can’t be happening...’_ Harold’s bespoke overcoat and suit jacket were missing as well as his tie and handcrafted leather shoes. John felt a flood of outrage wash over him at the idea of his always immaculately dressed partner being stripped of anything less than his full attire.

John moved the flashlight's beam down to Harold’s hands.

The left sleeve of his tailored shirt had been sliced open from the wrist and his arm had been cut in the process, soaking in and turning the luxurious fabric a sickening shade of red. The thief hadn’t even bothered to take the few seconds that would have been necessary to unbutton the cuff before taking Harold’s watch.

John seethed with anger and swallowed hard, putting the rage aside to begin examining his partner in earnest.

Harold still made no indication that he was aware of anything as John looked over the bloody gash just above his hairline, carefully feeling around the area for any structural damage to his skull.

His hair was matted down against his scalp with coagulated blood and John could see that he’d been hit over the head with something hard and blunt... evidently more than once.

He was becoming even more incensed but again tamped the emotion down and tried as hard as he could to continue his task unaffected. He couldn’t find any indications of breaks or fractures, but he knew that it didn’t necessarily mean that there was no internal damage.

He shut that thought down immediately. He didn’t even want to contemplate anything happening to Harold’s brain and he moved on again with his examination.

The bruised and swollen area around the head wound was mottled with varying shades of red and purple.

He pulled his hand away quickly and wiped the clotted gore from his fingers onto his own pants, using every scrap of training he’d ever learned to try and distance himself from his own emotional state and the horrible reality of what had been done to his gentle partner.

The fact that this was Harold lying there like that… so broken and bloodied, was finally breaking his resolve and began to hit him and there was practically nothing he could do to stop the assault.

Bear was sitting by him whimpering with anxiety, clearly upset that Harold was lying there so hurt and quiet.

John ran the flashlight over Harold’s body in search of more injuries and caught sight of the large rip in his aubergine colored waistcoat. He suddenly started to panic when he unbuttoned the garment and pulled it open.

He wanted to retch. Harold’s entire dress shirt was saturated with blood from the jagged entry wound in his mid-section.

When he moved the waistcoat further aside he looked beneath his body to the pavement below and saw the blood pooling there.

John’s heart sank to his stomach. Someone had vilolently and cold-bloodily beaten and stabbed his gentle partner then left him for dead.

There wasn’t a question in his mind… he had to call an ambulance right away. He didn't need to see the wound to understand that he didn't have the ability to fix the horrible injury.

Harold was in complete and total shock and utterly unresponsive. He was most likely dying and wouldn't stand a chance if he didn’t get help immediately. John hurried to pull his cell from his jacket as his hands shook uncontrollably. He dialed the number to the private ambulance service Harold had on call and waited in dread.


	5. Chapter 5

John had never in his life been so happy to hear a stranger’s voice before. A man answered his desperate call and asked only the pertinent information they needed to know regarding Harold's injuries, then assured him they would be there straightaway. 

He was more than grateful that Finch had had the wherewithal very early in their relationship to safeguard against any medical emergencies that might come up out in the the field. He was just sorry that those dire services were needed for his partner now instead of himself.

There was very little he could do at the moment and he felt adrift… lost without his north star to guide him. His partner was totally cataleptic yet he was gazing off into the distance and John could hardly stand it. 

He looked at Harold’s detached expression and wanted to kill the people responsible. He wanted to eviscerate them with his bare hands. He felt his heart hammering in his chest the more he thought about it.

He leaned over to be eye level and looked into Harold’s vacant stare. “Finch?” He tried to get some type of reaction from him. He touched Harold’s cheek, stoked his thumb across his pale skin, hoping and praying for a sign. “Harold… where are you?’ Please say something… please come back to me…” 

There was no recognition in his dead eyes… not so much as a spark and it was killing John’s soul to see him like that.

Harold hadn’t even blinked from what he could tell, and that on top of everything else was scaring him to death. He’d never seen anyone this far gone before and the total lack of response his partner was exhibiting was a difficult thing to witness and impossible to accept.

Bear was still whimpering and had moved to lay as close to Harold as he could without getting in the way, trying to comfort his waning master in the only manner he knew how to. 

Tears came unbidden as John put his hand to his partners face gently and closed his eyes. Harold never moved. He was as still and lifeless as a statue and John was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. 

He was so pale he looked dead and John had to convince himself that he wasn’t, that it was the shock that was doing this to him. John shut his own eyes just for a moment and prayed to God that the ambulance got there in time. 

He shook himself and decided that he needed to check the wound to Harold’s abdomen. He tapped his ear and opened the line to contact Shaw, to let her know what had happened. Then he hesitantly began to unbutton Harold’s shirt. 

She picked up almost immediately. “Yeah?” She answered in her usual put upon manner.

“It’s Harold...” That’s all John needed to say.

“What happened?” she asked plainly.

John’s voice was unsteady. “He’s been mugged… beaten and stabbed; he’s in shock.” He started numbly, “An ambulance is on the way, I’m just getting ready to look at the wound… to make sure it’s stopped bleeding. Meet us at the house nearest the library.” He wasted no time with the information.

He was afraid he’d break down if he stopped long enough to hear the horrifying words coming out of his own mouth. 

“I’ll be there,” she said, then hesitated. She didn’t dare ask him whether or not Harold’s injuries were life threatening, she could sense that they were and wouldn’t ask John to voice the reality.

John finally finished with the buttons on his partner’s blood soaked shirt. The material was beginning to stiffen as it dried, making it more difficult than it should have been. 

His stomach turned from handling the horrifically soiled garment and he closed his eyes briefly to steel himself for what would surely be an awful sight. He took another deep breath before revealing the injury… before seeing with his own eyes just how bad the damage was. 

He let out the breath slowly before opening his eyes again. He looked through the tears that had begun to cloud his vision and pulled the shirt up from Harold’s trousers. He opened the two halves, exposing the stab wound to Harold’s body. It was as bad as he imagined and bit back a sob when he actually saw the extent of it. 

“John…?” He had forgotten to cut his end of the phone line and Shaw prompted him gently. She’d heard his sharp intake of breath and then erratic, uneven breathing and knew what he had seen was terribly hard on him. She understood completely.

John couldn’t speak to answer her, he couldn’t make his mouth form any words.

“Keep it together… he’ll need you to be strong for him,” she said sympathetically, then disconnected the line.

He was grateful she ended the call when she did. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to have any communication with anyone right now when he was faced with such a devastating sight. 

It would have been unbearably painful for Harold and he could see that whoever had used the knife, had made sure that they went in deep and jagged, ensuring that he would bleed out and die slowly… to extend his suffering. 

The only saving grace was that it seemed to have stopped bleeding for the most part. John was grateful for that one small mercy at least.

He decided right then and there that when he finds whoever is responsible he would be sure to afford them the same consideration they had offered to his partner.

He was sure that the monster had fully believed that Harold would not live long enough to get help or identify them before he died. They would find out differently as soon as Harold was looked after and when he knew that his poor partner was going to be alright.

John tried to force himself to take a closer look… to try and determine which internal organs may have been effected. The reality of it was too much to bear at the moment. 

He couldn’t do it and had to turn away and to try and compose himself again just in case Harold was cognizant enough to know what was happening around him. He hated the idea of Harold seeing him so useless and afraid. 

Bear whimpered again and moved closer to put his muzzle under John’s hand in a show of support. John stroked his head, “I know, Bear…” The dog whimpered again, “I know…” He rubbed Bear’s ears and took a deep breath. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and took his jacket off to cover Harold’s upper body and tucked it around him. Then John did the only thing he could do that was within his power right now… he prayed.


	6. Chapter 6

A noise startled John from his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed as he sat there with his failing partner, but it had been long enough to give the medics time to find them.

As soon as they arrived, two men and a woman, they rushed through the alleyway, pushing a gurney towards them with their trauma gear sitting on top of it. 

John looked over to check on Harold, he still hadn’t seemed to have moved. “Bear, stay,” he instructed the dog and stood up to meet them halfway, hurrying back with them as they approached his partner’s lifeless form.

“How long has it been since the assault?” The female asked as they all hurried past John. He looked at the time.

“I… I’m not sure how long it’s been but I found him about twenty minutes ago. ” John replied anxiously.

As soon as the team got to Harold, the woman knelt down quickly and removed the coat John had covered him with and started to apply a blood pressure cuff. John noticed that she seemed to have paused to look at Harold for just a split second before she went to work. The other two physicians got to work readying the equipment they brought to help stabilize him for transport.

“He’s had spinal fusion surgery so be careful with his neck,” John began anxiously. “And his lower back too, don’t hurt him… I don’t know if he’s allergic to anything so watch out for that too.” 

“We’ll do everything we can Mister…?” she looked at him, expecting him to offer her his name. 

“John,” he answered quickly. “Just call me John.”

“Alright, John, just relax,” she examined Harold’s wound and the blood that had seeped into the ground underneath him. “We’re going to get his vitals and get him hooked up with some fluids to counteract the blood loss.” She put the stethoscope that was hanging from her neck to Harold’s chest and listened to his heart and lungs. John read her face, the almost imperceptible affects in her expression as she moved the instrument around, concentrating on her task. She seemed to have recognized his partner but he couldn't be sure. Then she checked Harold’s blood pressure.

“Colin, we need to move right now; he’s fading fast,” she announced and took a penlight to Harold’s eyes to check his pupil response.

When John heard what she’d said, he suddenly felt the wall against his back. He’d subconsciously leaned against it to keep his legs beneath him. He was floored not only by the content of her declaration but by the concern in her voice, the urgency. 

He instinctively knew things weren’t looking good… that Harold might die before they ever even got him to the house. His soul ached with every beat of his heart. He couldn’t lose him… 

They all moved in unison, a well-oiled machine of efficiency, a flurry of dizzying motion surrounded his weakening partner… as John’s world slowed to crawl. 

“John…?” He vaguely heard his name being called as he stared at the scene in front of him in a daze, “John?” He heard the woman’s voice again and looked at her, shaking the lethargy from his mind.

“We’re getting ready to move him now; will we be following you to the hospital?” she asked earnestly.

John shook his head, amazed that he hadn’t even grasped that they had gotten Harold hooked up to various pieces of medical equipment. “No, not the hospital; a house,” he replied. Seeing the expression of concern on her face he added, “It put’s most hospitals to shame,” he smiled wearily.

“Alright then, gentlemen, on three…” she began. The medics got into position to lift Harold onto the gurney and John almost tried to help, but saw just how adept they all were in their roles. 

They didn’t need him as she counted down and then they all picked him up smoothly and loaded him onto the rolling bed. Between the three of them they had Harold strapped in and moving in seconds.

John and Bear lead them back to the mouth of the alley as quickly as they could, looking back behind them every few feet. They got to the street quickly and the two men loaded Harold into the back of the awaiting ambulance while the woman rushed toward the driver’s side of the vehicle.

“We’ll follow your lead John, hurry,” she said intently. “There’s no time to waste.”

John nodded and opened the driver side door and Bear jumped in. He shut the door and didn’t bother with the seat belt as he got the car moving right away.

The ambulance followed and John kept an eye on them through the rear view mirror as they drove quickly to the house. “He’s going to make it, Bear, don’t worry. He’s going to be fine,” John repeated that mantra the entire trip. Trying to convince himself that Harold wasn’t going to die and leave him alone in the world again. 

Traffic was mercifully light and they blew through three of the five lights between the library and the fully equipped safe house without a problem. 

“How’s it going back there fella’s?” Maggie, asked her colleague’s from the driver’s seat. Before either man could answer she heard the heart monitor alarm go off from the back of the emergency vehicle.

“He’s coded; he’s in Afib.” Colin answered urgently. “We’ll have to perform cardioversion... his heart rate is off the charts.”

“Just do it!” the woman replied keenly. “Get him stabilized… we don’t want to lose him.” Maggie thought back to the day she had met Harold five years ago. She had been one of only a small handful of people that Harold had been able to save on his own. Before he’d been in any condition to recruit and hire others to perform the job that John had ultimately filled so skillfully.

She desperately wanted the man that had saved her shattered life back all that time ago to be saved in return. She felt a tear come to her eye as she listened to the two men in back readying the paddles to give Harold’s heart an electric shock to stop it from beating. The life giving organ was pumping out of control and could potentially cause a stroke or a heart attack. 

They needed to stop it just long enough to then be able to get it beating again with a normal sinus rhythm. Maggie knew every step. She knew they would also have a cardiac push needle ready to inject him loaded with adrenalin in case it didn’t continue to beat on its own after they got it started again… if they got it started again. There were always potential risks involved when stopping someone’s heart. She knew that painful reality too and she prayed that Harold would come through it without any problems.

They all arrived at the house as quickly as they could manage without running anyone off the road. John saw Shaw’s car parked just inside the gate and the residence was fully lit inside. She was there already, prepping everything they'd need for their arrival. Little did he know that the medics inside the ambulance were fighting to stabilize his partner and keep him alive long enough for the move inside.


	7. Chapter 7

“Alright, get ready, Andrew…” Colin turned the defibrillator on and readied the paddles while his colleague opened Harold’s shirt to fully expose his chest. “On my mark.” Maggie listened as the high pitched whine of the machine powered up in preparation to give Harold’s heart an electric charge. _‘Please God…help him,’_ she prayed and continued to follow behind John as they rushed to their destination.

“Ready… clear!” She heard the sound of the jolt being administered and the impact of Harold’s body coming back to rest heavily against the table after the procedure had let loose its current and released his taut muscles.

Maggie continued closely behind John, praying all the while, until he pulled over to a stop and stuck his head out of the driver’s side window. “There’s an entrance to the medical suite at the back of the garage,” he began earnestly. “I’ll get the doors open and you can pull up in front and go in through that way… you’ll see when you get there and I’ll be right behind you.”

He motioned for her to go around his car and she followed the private stretch of road around until it came upon a very large turn of the century property. One of six doors to the sectioned building that adjoined the main house opened up and she drove, as John had directed her and prepared to stop the vehicle.

She was distracted by the commotion of her colleagues still working to get Harold’s heart regulated. “We have to go again…” Colin stated quickly, intent on his task. “Ready… and clear.” Both men watched for any response as Harold’s body seized from the electric current running through his central nervous system for the second time, and then went slack against the table.

There was no indication from Harold that the procedure was having any effect on him whatsoever and like it or not, Maggie knew she was becoming much more emotionally invested than she should.

“Colin, administer the adrenaline,” she ordered anxiously from the front. Every second that ticked by without success made her own heart ache.

“Andrew, hand me the syringe…” Colin took the exceptionally long needle and pushed it in between two of Harold’s ribs and into his heart, injecting the contents swiftly.

Maggie parked quickly and turned towards the back to observe and assess the situation as it unfolded. The highly skilled doctor knew intuitively that she’d have to make some sort of assurance to John when he saw what was happening to his partner.

She only had a few moments before he would be right outside the ambulance, expecting them to move Harold inside.

“Come on, Harold,” she said out loud, encouraging her injured friend as he was being worked on. “You know this guy, Maggs? Andrew asked.

Both men were surprised that she’d seemed to have more of a personal connection with the waning man than she usually had for those they’d helped before. She smiled weakly and nodded, her eyes glistening. “He saved my life a few years back.” She took a deep breath and tears spilled down her cheeks, “when I’d convinced myself it wasn’t worth living anymore.”

Suddenly, Harold’s eyes flew open and he gasped in intense pain and distress. He couldn’t catch his breath as he looked around the small, unfamiliar location he was confined to. He frantically tried to figure out what was happening to him and was on the verge of panicking.

“Oxygen, hurry!” Maggie ordered and moved to take Andrew’s place in the back and took Harold’s hand in hers. “Harold, it’s me… Maggie O’Neill. Hang on for me, alright?” Andrew placed the oxygen mask over Harold’s face and secured its hold around his head.

Harold blinked up at the woman leaning over him. He could barely make out her appearance as she spoke to him ardently. Everything was a blur and he didn’t recognize her name or her face as she held his hand, rubbing the top of it, trying to comfort him. “Calm down and breathe for me…” she tried to soothe him.

Suddenly and without warning, the pain in Harold’s body was completely eclipsed and utterly overwhelmed by the piercing pain in his head. He moaned in agony while his whole body trembled with a stabbing, shooting pain through his skull.

It seemed like an eternity of unrelenting anguish until finally it became too much and he passed out completely.

Colin and Andrew hurried to swing the back doors open to find John standing there anxiously waiting to escort them inside to the medical facility. Maggie dried her tears and unlocked the wheels on the gurney.

Shaw rushed through the building from the back to meet them all. “It’s about damn time you got here.” She remarked as they unloaded an unconscious Finch from the back of the ambulance. She hurried over and regarded Harold with a dismayed look on her face. “He looks like hell, John,” she stated needlessly.

“Just lead the way,” John retorted irritably. “Bear, hier… blijven,” he commanded the anxiously concerned dog to stay next to him while they prepared to move.

“What have you got him hooked up to?” John asked nervously, eyeing the oxygen mask covering his partner’s face and the small heart monitor attached to his chest as they began to push the gurney toward the huge garage.

“We had to get his heart regulated, John.” Maggie pulled herself together and began calmly. “He went into Afib and couldn’t get his breathing under control, but he’s alright for now. He’s on pure oxygen and the heart monitor is necessary for the moment… we have to hurry.”

John nodded and walked beside the medical team with Bear following them closely and Shaw rushed them through the impressive building.

The large carriage house that had been converted into a multicar garage housed a wide array of vehicles. The selection ran the gamut of specialized cars and motorcycles. From a full sized, armored military grade Humvee to a tiny British manufactured mini-cooper convertible. It also housed two top of the line Ducati racing motorbikes.

The oversized building lead directly into a full medical wing, complete with multiple rooms for every procedure they could think of that might come up in their line of work.

“First things first,” Maggie announced as she looked around the well-equipped room. “We need to prep him for surgery and get that knife wound seen to. Then we get tests done on the head injury; I don’t like the looks of it.”

Shaw bit her lip. She wanted to jump in with both feet but knew that Finch had these people picked out personally and trusted his judgment. She would just have to deal with the fact that she wasn’t in control of what happened to him now.

“What do you need me to do?” Shaw asked and watched the two men go to the sink to scrub up. John was standing next to Harold with his hand on his partner’s forearm lost in thought. Bear sat beside them both and whimpered with concern.

Maggie looked at her and smiled sympathetically then looked at John. The former agent looked like a lost child in need of some reassurance. “If you could get him some coffee, I think that’d be a good start.”


	8. Chapter 8

“You can take the oxygen mask off now. I’m pretty sure he’s breathing well enough on his own.” Maggie looked towards John standing over their friend and smiled sadly. “We’ll know what we’re up against very soon.” She explained to Shaw.

Sameen nodded, “I have a medical background, just so you know,” she stated as a matter of fact. “I’ve been hands on too many times to count.”

Maggie acknowledged her; she had intuitively known that Shaw knew her way around an emergency situation when she saw it and left her to go wash up and consult with her teammates. 

Shaw walked over to John and stood next to him. She leaned over and rubbed Bear’s ears and pet him comfortingly.

“He’ll be okay, John,” Shaw stated assuredly. “Harold’s a fighter.” She looked down on the gentle, beaten, and battered man lying there so weak and helpless and felt anger rising up in her. 

She wanted nothing more than to let herself lose control and snap…to go after the scum that had done this fowl thing to their munificent friend and wreak havoc on them. 

Finch looked god awful and broken… and somehow strangely vulnerable without his glasses. She suddenly realized that she’d never seen him without his customary black frames and that awareness of all things, made her heart constrict. 

“Yeah, he’s a fighter…” John replied absently and stared down at the brutal evidence of violence that had been inflicted upon the kindest, gentlest person he’d ever known. “He’ll be alright,” he murmured under his breath.

Shaw found herself becoming increasingly nervous as she took a mental inventory of Harold’s injuries.

It’s not as if she didn’t trust the people that Harold had enlisted for these types of emergencies, it’s just that she had to check him over for herself, for her own peace of mind. 

The dressing over his abdomen was slowly becoming saturated with blood and needed to be addressed quickly. If she had to guess, it looked as if the blade might have gone in around his stomach lining or spleen. 

It was a messy entry wound, and would have been extremely painful… once again she had to get a handle of her rage for what Harold had gone through by himself, completely alone… with no way to defend himself. 

She crossed her fingers that the knife hadn’t hit any major organs when it went in so jaggedly. She carefully felt and palpated around Harold’s bare stomach for any distension or tautness that would indicate internal bleeding and breathed a small sigh of relief when she found that there didn’t seem to be an issue with it. 

The puncture below his eye was fairly shallow and had scabbed over some time ago. A good cleaning and two or three stitches would take care of that, and if he were lucky it might not even leave a scar.

John seemed to read her mind as he walked away without a word and found some sanitizing wipes, then returned and began cleansing the area, wiping the wound and the streaks and smears of dried blood that covered the majority of his partner’s face.

The cut to Harold’s arm would also require stitches… more than a few, but again, the wound had stopped bleeding and was far from life threatening. 

The bruising to his face and upper chest and the split lip indicated the cold callousness of his attackers. Harold had clearly been used as a punching bag and beaten with something other than a fist. 

It was infuriating proof of what he’d had to endure before he was left for dead. But what was concerning Shaw the most was the open head wound that was displayed prominently just above Harold’s hair line. The laceration had stopped bleeding but it wasn’t the cut so much, that concerned her as she inspected it further, it was the severe bruising.

John busied himself seemingly in a daze and on autopilot as he cleaned the oxidized, bloody smears off of Harold’s face and neck. Coagulated blood had somehow found its way into the hair on Harold’s chest and John commenced to clean there as well, needing something to do that was helpful. 

He hadn’t heard a word from his partner since he’d found him and that scared the hell out of him. He continued to wipe away the gore as thoroughly and as gently as he could. 

Bear had found a place in the corner of the room to curl up and lay down and could be heard whimpering quietly as the humans busied themselves with his injured master.

Shaw moved around to look at Harold’s head injury more closely and saw evidence of more than one blow inflicted to him with something solid and heavy. 

She ran her fingers over his cranium, through his matted hair and found another laceration that had been hidden from view. Her heart sped up as she separated the caked bloody strands to reveal the additional gash and swelling in his scalp, “Hurry up doctor. I think he may have a fractured skull,” she called across the room. 

Shaw hadn’t considered the fact that John would be upset by her urgent demand, and immediately felt bad for him when she saw the look of panic on his face.

Maggie and her team hurried over, pulling surgical gloves on as they approached.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” The doctor announced.

“Here…” Shaw indicated the area. Maggie nodded and pulled the overhead lamp around to get a better look, “Yes, we need to get a CT scan and an MRI done, stat.” She ran her fingers over the wound gingerly, concentration etched in her face.

“Scrub up, Miss Shaw. We may need you,” Maggie stated. “We’ll delay the abdomen wound for now until we see what’s happening with his skull.”

John could feel the sudden urgency in the room and stepped back from the table after taking one more look at his poor partner. His heart ached at the sight.

As John was about to turn away and go sit with Bear, Harold’s eyes fluttered and opened sluggishly. He squinted above him at the blinding light that assaulted his vision and the pain in his head increased. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and gasped and groaned in pain. John was back by his side in an instant.

The doctors stopped for a moment as John stood over his partner and spoke to him earnestly. “Finch…? Harold, hang on!” he urged and squeezed his forearm reassuringly.

“What… where am I? Harold pleaded, clearly suffering in agonizing pain. 

He moaned again, the anguish of everything his body had been subjected to had compiled and was hitting him all at once, “I can’t… I can’t take it… please...” The pain in his head shot to the forefront of all else as the light was blindingly bright, so much so he felt like he needed to retch. The agony was inexpressible as he writhed weakly on the gurney. 

“Move the light, damn it!” John exclaimed, “It’s hurting his eyes!”

Shaw pushed the extremely bright operating light away from him and Harold tried to open his eyes again. He was desperate to know what was happening to him even through the overwhelming pain.

“Just relax Finch. You’re going to be okay… we’ve got you now, you’re okay…” John tried reassuringly.

Harold cracked his eyes open again hesitantly and looked around him disoriented. He blinked trying to make out the image above him. He was practically blind with the absence of his glasses and the pain shooting through every raw nerve in his body made his vision whirl. 

John finally realized that Harold was missing his specs and leaned in further so that his partner could see him better, “I’m here, Finch,” John tried to smile, a momentary wave of relief washed over him when Harold’s eyes locked onto his and he was finally able to comprehend his face.

“Who… who are you?” he choked out and squeezed his eyes shut, confused and at a loss. He gasped again at the pain in his head and struggled on the bed in pure unadulterated agony. 

Harold had no idea who the people around him were. He didn’t recognize anyone and had no idea where he was or what had happened to him. He wanted nothing more than to be free from the onslaught of tortuous pain that had been unleashed upon him. 

John was dumbstruck by Finch’s reaction and looked on stunned and in shock as the doctor quickly injected a sedative into Harold’s arm and his body finally calmed down and laid still until exhaustion and drugs mercifully pulled him into oblivion.


	9. Chapter 9

“What in the hell was that?” John murmured in a state of shock. 

He backed away from the flurry of movement that was now around Harold until he felt the wall at his back. His mind was inundated with emotional turmoil. He knew that Finch’s head injuries were probably serious just by their appearance but he’d never even contemplated the idea they could be so severe that they had obliterated his memory. 

Had his partner just not recognized him without his glasses? Was Harold still in shock and confused by everything that had happened to him since he talked to him just a short time ago? John prayed that it was the transitory shock he’d found him in and nothing permanent… but his pessimistic nature was interfering with his hopes and telling him that the man he’d grown so attached to… could possibly be lost to him now. Had he forgotten what they had meant to each other all this time?

It couldn’t be so… it would be a tremendous blow to him if the virtuous man that had found and dragged him from the precipice of death and gave his life meaning again was gone forever.

Harold might not know anything of what he’d done for him or anyone else… all the generosity he’d given freely of himself in effort to save so many others… no, he couldn’t bear to even think of that possibility.

John’s stomach roiled and his heart clenched painfully. Retribution would be the first order of business as soon as he knew exactly what Harold, and by extension, the rest of them would be facing.

Shaw walked over to John in his stupor and pulled him by the arm towards the sink. She saw plainly, the multitudes of emotion on his face morph into an outward show of his inner despair. John followed her blindly as she began to scrub her hands vigorously with a brush and sanitized wash in case she’d be needed.

“Look Reese, don’t jump to conclusions alright? I was just as surprised as you were that he didn’t seem to know you… but it could just be a temporary thing. He’s been bashed over the head a few times; that’s enough to jumble anyone’s brain, but we won’t know for sure until we run some tests and deal with the rest of his injuries what his condition is right now.” 

John turned towards her, “Do you think he’ll be alright, Shaw? Do you really think he has a chance?” he asked her frankly. His gut was telling him no and by the look of urgency and concern on the unfamiliar doctor’s faces… their demeanor only made matters worse with his own doubts. 

If Harold had suffered amnesia, as it seemed at the moment, it would be a devastating blow to them all… but as long as he lived through this life threatening ordeal, that outcome alone would be enough. 

Shaw finished sterilizing then began drying her hands. “The stab wound is messy and should be taken care of first in my opinion and I don’t think we should panic about anything until we get a look inside and see what has to be done,” she tossed the towel in the sink and grabbed a pair of surgical gloves and looked towards the doctor’s as she put them on. “When we wake Finch up and talk to him, we’ll have a better idea of what’s going on with him cognitively.  
“But we won’t know what the real repercussions of his head injuries are until we do some tests to see what’s happening inside after the blunt force trauma to his skull.” She looked at a morose Bear who looked despondent at all the activity across the room. Then looked at Harold, unconscious, and three people the dog didn’t know, but instinctively understood were helping his master, prepping him for what would be the first thing that had to be done and she motioned towards the dog, “Until then, go take care of our other teammate… he needs some reassurance.”

John nodded, he had nothing more to offer in the way of conversation, not trusting his voice and too lost in his own worry.

Shaw needed to go back to Finch. But most of all, she was right… Bear needed some comfort. 

He walked over to the faithful dog and sat down next to him on the floor. “Hier...” John patted his thigh and Bear practically crawled into his lap. “Yes, yes, I know boy.” 

Bear whimpered and John held him close and stroked his head and ears trying to sooth the anxious canine while they both looked on in anxious apprehension at the doctor’s efforts to treat Harold’s injuries.

“We’ve discussed it, Shaw, and we’re in agreement that we should see what his abdominal injuries are and rule out excessive internal bleeding and damage to any vital organs before we do the tests on his head.” Maggie looked pointedly at Shaw as did her colleagues. She was aware that Harold’s teammates, especially John, would have the ultimate say in how they would treat him medically and she also knew that Shaw had an extensive medical background as well.

“Yeah, I think so too,” Shaw began and looked down upon her unconscious, wounded leader. “He’s sedated and shouldn’t give us any problems while we take look at the stab wound. It shouldn’t take long to figure out which injury should be prioritized once we get a look inside and determine what needs to happen.” She looked over at John. 

He was staring absently in their direction, and she could tell that he was somewhere else in his mind. She figured that John had let himself become too invested in the horrible situation and was torn in how she felt about the matter. 

On the one hand, she was angry that he’d let his guard down. He’d forgotten how to be the operative he’d been trained and conditioned to be in any and all situations. On the other hand… this was Harold lying here, damaged and on the brink of who knows what. She herself couldn’t prevent just a little bit of unprofessional emotion creep into her own soul.

“Alright everyone…," Maggie took a deep breath and pulled the imaging device over Harold's abdomen so they could all see what they'd be up against with the injury caused buy the blade, "let’s get a look,”


	10. Chapter 10

 

John watched silently from across the room, detached and dazed as the team of doctors flew into action around his partner. He stroked Bears flank mechanically, soothing the loyal animal as well as comforting himself in some small way.

“Harold’s blood type is O-Negative boys,” Shaw pulled four units of blood out of the cooler, along with the other fluids necessary to keep him stable while they worked on the wound in his abdomen.

She brought them back to the table and added imperatively, “You’re going to have to watch it, there’s not a lot to work with.” Shaw was silently cursing the fact that while they had an overabundance of blood on hand for the rest of the team, they didn’t have any surplus for Finch. They would need every drop they had and perform their respective surgeries perfectly so they didn’t run into additional complications.

On top of that dreadful realization, the rarity of his blood type wouldn’t allow him to accept any of what they had available and no one else on the team was a match. Harold was going to be up shit creek if they ran out unless one of these three people here were his type… no one was speaking up so that answered that.

“Andrew, set him up with the blood and get the fluids going, you’re going to be the anesthesiologist. Colin, get in there and see what needs to be done for the stab wound. Shaw and I will determine how severe the head injury is and we’ll go from there.” Maggie crossed the room and pulled the portable CT scanning machine to the table while Andrew affixed an oxygen mask and started the IV’s going into Harold’s arm.

Colin readied their own imaging machine to see what the wound in Harold’s mid-section looked like.

Shaw stood over their leader and gritted her teeth, seething with bitterness and rage as she took in the sight of all the horrible injuries that had been inflicted upon him.

The numerous wounds to his face and body under the harsh fluorescent lights made Harold appear frail and broken and Shaw wanted nothing more than to get her hands on the culprits and make them suffer the same ruthlessness Finch had been put through.

As she committed each brutal offense to memory, it was obvious to her that he’d been bludgeoned with what appeared to be a tire iron. She could guess by the angle of the long red welt and bruising on his chest and shoulder what the weapon probably was. And with the swelling and scalp lacerations, everything pointed to the heavy iron implement being the culprit.

Her blood coursed through her veins fast and hot. The thought of such a filthy, mundane object bringing so much devastating damage to the gentlest human being she’s ever met, outraged her to no end. _‘Someone is going to pay for this with their lives...’_ she thought to herself wrathfully. _‘Finch may have reigns on John but I’m not a convert yet. They better pray that I don’t find them first.’_

Maggie swallowed nervously as she pulled the imaging machine around and positioned it directly above Harold’s head. She could feel the rage coming off of Shaw palpably as she powered it on and what was displayed on the screen was her worst fear come to light. She couldn’t help the sharp inhalation of breath she took by what she saw.

The image did not bode well for Harold’s chances. She stifled the despairing sound that tried to make its way out of her mouth as her heart sank to her stomach. She was a damn good surgeon and she knew it, but given the size and the location of the blood clot and the surrounding contusions in Harold’s skull, what was needed was a miracle.

It was just about as bad as it could be and she was exceedingly afraid for the man that had saved her life all those years ago.

Shaw voiced what Maggie had not wanted to state out loud for fear of upsetting John any further. “Acute subdural hematoma with multiple cerebral contusions,” she stated conclusively. “The bastards did one hell of a number on him with a fucking tire iron!” Shaw didn’t concern herself with sugar coating the harsh reality laid out in front of them, she was furious and didn’t give a shit who knew.

Even if Harold lived through the complicated and risky neuro-surgery, and lived past the initial recovery stage, he might still not come out of it with all of his mental faculties intact… and that, she knew without a shadow of a doubt, would be a fate far worse for him than death.

Maggie looked in John’s direction to find him getting off the floor and walking towards them, clearly disturbed by Shaw’s blatantly uncensored analysis.

John’s heart constricted in his chest as soon as the words left Shaw’s mouth. He knew precisely what that prognosis could mean for his partner. He’d seen, and ashamedly on more than one occasion caused, people to be severely injured and nearly killed by receiving devastating blows to the head… and the knowledge was earth shattering.

Maggie looked at John’s face and saw how distraught and crushed he was by the news. “John…” she looked at him squarely in the eyes, “I promise you, we’re going to do everything in our power to help him.” Her heart went out to him. She sensed that to John, Harold was more than his partner, he was his savior… just as Harold had been for her at one time. “Please, go outside and try to relax. Let us do our jobs.”

“She’s right, Reese,” Shaw interjected as she studied the image of Harold’s brain intently. “Don’t torture yourself here. Why don’t you try to find out who the assholes that did this are so we can return the favor.”

John took a deep breath and nodded, “I’ll go over the footage again, and audio, see if I missed anything the first time.” He looked at Harold lying there motionless, gravely injured, and sickly white but for the oxidized blood and gore that had been missed when he tried to clean the evidence of violence from his skin a short time ago.

He wanted to stay and finish his lackluster job, to remove every smudge and smear from his pale flesh, he wanted to go back in time and erase everything that had happened.

“We have to move fast,” Maggie announced. “Please, go John. Take care of yourself so you can help him when he needs you.” She smiled as best she could and John hesitantly turned to leave.

“Colin, have you found anything yet?” she asked expectantly, trying to break the moment of hopelessness that permeated the room.

Harold stirred on the table and everyone froze for a split second, “God damn it, why is he waking up!?” Shaw exclaimed lividly.

“Stop…” Harold begged weakly through the oxygen mask, “Stop this now… for your own good…” he writhed feebly on the table while Andrew quickly checked the IV lines and adjusted the flow of the anesthesia.

“Jesus Christ!” John sprinted back to his partner’s side and leaned in close. He wanted more than anything to take his hand, to offer some comfort and assurance, but he was careful not to touch him for fear of contamination. “Finch… Finch, I’m here,” he spoke softly, “I’m here… its John, I’m here.”

_Harold fought to open his eyes and failed. He was being sneered at and beaten by the vicious men in his vision, he could hardly breathe but he had to try to warn them one last time. “Stop please… you don’t know… you don’t know what you’re doing.” He pleaded again but they kept at him, laughing with each painful punch and kick to his ribs and face until the final blow to his head ended everything and the world suddenly went black._

“Get out, John! Let us work on him.” Shaw exclaimed heatedly and Bear began yelping in confusion and fear at her sudden outburst.

John knew she wasn’t upset with him, she was angry at the situation, irate by her lack of control over what had happened. He looked once more at his poor partner before walking away and calling for Bear to go out of the room with him.

“He’s out and we shouldn’t have another problem,” Andrew announced somberly.

“His spleen has been ruptured.” Colin stated and turned to the tray of surgical instruments, “I’ll get started on the laparotomy; we need to irrigate the area right away. Andrew, I need you to assist.”

“I’m on it,” Andrew moved to stand opposite his colleague with the suction hose, ready to dry out the area as soon as it was exposed.

Maggie turned to Shaw, “Have you had any experience with neurosurgery, doctor?” she asked intently.

“I’ve never actually performed any but I have studied the procedure and seen it performed a few times,” she replied keenly.

“Well, this time you’re going to be hands on,” Maggie announced. “How do you feel about that?”

“Anything I can do to save him…” Shaw looked down at Finch reflectively.

The memory of the first time she’d met Harold came to mind.

She thought she’d seen it all until this very polite, well-dressed man offered to set her up with a new identity and a brand new life in order to save her from her former employers. She thought that he and John were some kind of weird do-gooders and that she didn’t need either one of them to save her from Special Counsel or anyone else. She'd been very good at her job and didn't think she needed _anyone_ to help her with anything. Particularly two guys she didn't know from Adam.

She was proven wrong in a lethal way and if it hadn’t been for them she’d be dead and gone without a trace. “I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

“We need to hurry,” Maggie announced hastily, “every minute we lose lessens his chances of survival.”

“I’m ready.” Shaw swallowed hard. She couldn’t screw up here. They had to save Harold’s life first and then pray to God they got to him in time to forestall any permanent damage.

“Alright… now let’s do this…”


End file.
